


an appropriate defense

by dogworldchampion



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Canon-Typical Sexism, Gen, Keladry of Mindelan (mentioned) - Freeform, Marinie of Shaila, Peachblossom (mentioned), Tobe won't stand for slander of female knights, Veralidaine Sarrasri (mentioned), who is in fact a female page
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogworldchampion/pseuds/dogworldchampion
Summary: Tobe rounded the gate into the open stall, his fist already drawn back like Lady Kel had taught him years ago in the town square of New Hope. Before he’d had time to consider attempting to resolve the situation peacefully, he was feeling the surprisingly satisfying crack of breaking bone beneath his fingers. Both pages’ jaws dropped, blood dripping into Halleburn’s open mouth as he sputtered indignantly. He spared not a word for Tobe, instead spitting blood in his general direction as he sprinted out of the stall and down the aisle.“He’s going for the Training Master, you know.”Tobe shrugged. “Stefan’ll be disappointed, but Daine’ll think it’s funny.”
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71





	an appropriate defense

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt: tobe + fist
> 
> (i'm @the-pontiac-bandit there if you want to tell me what you think or send me more!)

Tobe whistled as he meandered down the long aisle in the center of the pages’ stables, horses perking their ears up or neighing quietly in greeting as he passed. He’d lived at the palace for nearly a month and had found--to the surprise of no one except himself--that it quite suited him. He’d known that Peachblossom, Hoshi, Magewhisper, and the rest were well-bred and well-trained, but even after Lady Kel had described the palace in detail, he still hadn’t been prepared for the sheer _number_ of perfect horses, living stall after stall for what felt like miles of stables. Their coats shone, muscles rippling beneath as they responded to the lightest touch of his knee against their sides. It was like _magic._

Stefan and Daine, meanwhile, were teaching him to control his actual magic, spending hours meditating with him and instructing him on the best ways to _listen_. He marveled for a moment as he walked at how much clearer the voices around him sounded, even compared to only a few weeks before, when he spent most of the ride south translating Peachblossom’s complaints about the mud for Lady Kel’s benefit. He’d spent time admiring and trading wry jokes with Loey’s shaggy ponies in the Riders’ stables and spent most afternoons practicing with his bow on their standing targets while they were busy on horseback, but that was a decision for next year. For now, he was more than content to enjoy the marvel of newly discovered magic and the heady sensation of his newly earned freedom.

He was distracted as he wandered through the stables, making his way towards the hay lofts at the far end, where he’d left some tack that needed mending. He was reveling in the sounds—although really, Daine had explained last week, they weren’t _sounds_ as he understood them—of the horses’ idle gossip. Equine gossip was always so much more interesting than two-legger gossip, Hoshi had insisted time and again when he came to her and Peachblossom with a tidbit about one of his two-legger friends, and Tobe found that he had to agree.

He didn’t notice at first when the tones changed, but suddenly, he was aware that the genial chatter he’d been so enjoying had turned tense and quiet. Some of the more skittish warhorses had backed up to the corners of their stalls, pawing at the floor with hooves the size of the plates in the mess hall while the whites of their eyes shone in the dim light. Similarly, some of the more skittish pages had fled their horses’ stalls, eager to avoid broken toes or bruised ribs.

He knew what his job was now. He was to go find Stefan as fast as his legs could carry him and warn him that a fight was brewing. Then, Stefan would wander through the stables in the casual, quietly purposeful manner he had perfected, silently reminding the pages that they’d best groom their horses properly and pick fights on their own time. He’d witnessed it twice since he’d started as a groom, and he was eager to emulate the walk himself one day.

He’d already turned to go when a sample of the words drifted towards him over the quiet scuffles of pages fleeing the scene, eager to avoid the punishment work that they’d surely earn if they were caught brawling in the stables.

“A stupid trollop…no better than you ought to be…”

Tobe’s blood boiled at the sound of the words, ones he’d heard more times than he could count, from the mouths of new refugees or fellow soldiers at Mastiff, always out of his Lady’s earshot. Before he’d even made a conscious decision to do so, he was spinning on one heel and stalking back down the aisle. As he strode towards the corner stall, where the horses seemed most nervous, he drew himself up to the fullest of his fourteen-year-old height, thanking the gods for his recent growth spurt. He’d put on more muscle, too, as his voice deepened. He spared a moment to warn the horse—a particular favorite of his nicknamed Bonney by her rider—not to intervene, and then shifted his hearing to his ears to better hear the two-leggers, picking up more of the argument as he drew nearer.

“You shouldn’t do this, Halleburn,” Bonney’s rider’s voice was cold, her tone firm. Tobe was sure she must be angry. After all, his own mind was seething with rage. Instead, though, she sounded ice-cold.

“You shouldn’t be doing _any_ of this, _my lady_ ,” Brennard of Halleburn replied. Tobe was still new to the manners of the nobility, but even _he_ could tell that _lady_ here was an insult, not an honorific.

“You’re just embarrassed that I beat you. If you spent as much time practicing as you do whining when you lose, you might have more luck next time.” Tobe was tempted to whistle quietly at her bold retort, but he was distracted by the sound of a scuffle, and by Bonney’s insistent _Hurry_ in his head.

He rounded the gate into the open stall, his fist already drawn back like Lady Kel had taught him years ago in the town square of New Hope. Before he’d had time to consider attempting to resolve the situation peacefully, he was feeling the surprisingly satisfying _crack_ of breaking bone beneath his fingers.

Both pages’ jaws dropped, blood dripping into Halleburn’s open mouth as he sputtered indignantly. He spared not a word for Tobe, instead spitting blood in his general direction as he sprinted out of the stall and down the aisle. Tobe was sure he was bound for Lord Padraig’s rooms, but he could hardly bring himself to care. His blood was pounding in his ears, his heart racing in his chest, as he seethed over the page’s words.

He took one deep breath, then another, fighting to control his emotions and his shaking hands. It was as the anger cleared that he recalled he was not alone in Bonney’s stall. The female page was staring at him, mouth still open in shock. Belatedly, he remembered his manners, bowing deeply in the manner Stefan had drilled him on as he stuttered.

“I apologize—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to disrespect—Page…” and then he trailed off. While he was intimately familiar with the details of the page’s riding skills—well beyond her fourteen years, according to Bonney—Bonney had never thought to mention her rider’s name—or how pretty she was.

“Marinie,” she replied. She finally closed her still-open mouth, but her eyes were still flashing with anger. “Marinie of Shaila.”

“Page Marinie,” Tobe filled in, finding words as he calmed. “I do apologize for my outburst. It was not my place. I hope you can forgive my rudeness.”

She brushed past his formal apology with an impatient shake of her dark braid. He noticed her hair—longer than both Lady Kel’s and the Lioness’ but braided tight against her head. After a day’s worth of hard work, shorter pieces in the front had fallen out, some framing her face while others curled out from her head. One lock fell in her eyes with the shake of her head, but she brushed it away absentmindedly as she replied, “He’s going for the Training Master, you know.”

Tobe shrugged. “Stefan’ll be disappointed, but Daine’ll think it’s funny.” He’d discovered quickly that Daine always thought such misbehavior was worth a laugh. Numair said it was because she lacked discipline, but there was laughter in his eyes as she elbowed him in response.

Marinie smiled quickly at that, her demeanor shifting from frustrated to friendly in a breath. “She probably will. In one of our lessons on horse care, she told Carlin of Irenroha his horse would bite his nose if he kept sitting like a lazy sack of flour at the trot. When Carlin tried to complain to Lord Padraig, m’lord just told him Daine was right.”

“That sounds like her,” Tobe replied. He wasn’t sure if he should go before Lord Padraig returned to chastise him or stay to clean the blood off the floor of Bonney’s stall. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his body, he could feel his fist hurting where it had made contact with Brennard of Halleburn’s face. He shook it out as he turned to leave the stall for the tack room, where sponges and brushes for scrubbing could be found. 

“Why’d you do it?” Marinie asked. She was surprisingly direct, for a noble, and he found the corners of his mouth twitching at her lack of inhibition.

He stopped, one foot out the gate of the stall, to answer. “I worked four years for the Lady Knight Keladry, and—”

He’d meant to continue to explain, about all of the muttered insults and unfair accusations and his disappointment that such things were said even in King Jonathan’s palace, but Marinie had already cut him off.

“You know Lady Knight Keladry?” Her face lit up at the information, a smile breaking across her freckled cheeks. “What’s she like? Is she as good with her glaive as they say? What about the lance? I didn’t get to see her joust on Progress—my mother said I was too young, even though I _wasn’t_ , and—”

She cut herself off, her cheeks reddening slightly as she scraped a well-worn boot against the stable floor. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to say.”

Tobe grinned properly at that. “She’s even better. You should see her joust against Lord Raoul—that’s a _real_ match. She hasn’t beat him yet, but she sits in the saddle all firm, and her horse is all muscle and speed. She rides him like something out of legend, and he can bite something _fierce_. He’s too big for pretty much everyone except her, but they're near perfect together, and he’s got a beautiful strawberry coat—”

“You’re talking about her horse,” she interrupted him again.

“Right,” he caught himself. He rubbed his hand again. It was properly throbbing by then, his first two knuckles already beginning to swell. Lady Kel hadn’t mentioned how much punching someone _hurt_ —he’d have to tell her when he next wrote.

Page Marinie eyed his fist, a knowing look in her dark eyes. “You should come to my rooms. I have bruise balm that’ll help loads with that. You won’t be able to use that hand tomorrow otherwise.”

“I shouldn’t,” he replied, a bit uncertain. “I really should be cleaning this mess. That’s what’ll get me with Stefan later, if Bonney here tells him she’s been smelling blood all evening.”

She shrugged. “Meet me back here at the second bell after supper, and I’ll help. I finished my punishment work in the armory two days ago, so I have the time.” His heart skipped a beat at the invitation, and he could feel his cheeks redden just a bit.

He started to protest, but she was already interrupting him again. “If you hadn’t done it, I probably would’ve. He deserved it. And if you _really_ want to thank me, you can tell me stories about Lady Kel— _not_ her horse—on the way.”


End file.
